


Prompted Response

by opaliaus



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Disabled Character, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Multiple Wardens (Dragon Age), Pre-Canon, Rivain, Warden Alistair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-02-18 07:33:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13095399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opaliaus/pseuds/opaliaus
Summary: a collection of drabbles to fill prompts and things sent to mytumblror requested by friends.





	1. a birthday

**Author's Note:**

> alistair x tabris, "i'm not wearing that"

“Dysina!”

Sina twisted to glance at Alistair where he’d poked his head into her tent. He came inside at her beckoning and shifted to sit next to her. “What is it?”

“Oh,” Alistair blinked at her where she sat cross-legged with narrowed eyes. “Nothing,” her laughed at her pursed lips and leaned sideways to kiss them. He grinned when they parted, delighted to find a smile had taken place of Sina's scowl. “I was just thinking about your name.” They’d stayed up too late talking about what Sina might have considered meaningless things. Upon reflection, however, they’d been anything but. He’d asked about how she’d come to be a warden and she’d told him a bit about her childhood in the alienage. Her father’s habit of using her full name only to scold her had come up, too. Alistair had tried it, complimenting her on how he thought Dysina fit - lovely like her, or some similar compliment that had made them both laugh at the sheer absurdity of it - and things afterwards had… progressed, leaving him no opportunity to ask “what does Dysina mean?”

“What does my name mean?” Sina's brows arched a bit at the question. “Luck... Ah, what’s the best way to say it? Luck...within. I'm to be blessed in all my deeds and bring good fortune to those who have me in their lives.” She shrugged as she continued with her task of whittling, turning the wood in her fingers to consider its shape. Her mother had done all she could to make sure Sina knew the significance of her very first possession, the only thing no man, human, or circumstance could take from her. 

The sigh Alistair expelled made Sina’s face twist with distaste. “What?” She challenged, laughing only in surprise when he shifted closer and knocked her arm with his. “What’s wrong with that?” She asked, bristling a bit less upon seeing his face.

“That’s a good name. Your parents put a lot of thought into it.”

“Oh.” Sina studied Alistair for a moment, chastising herself for being defensive and immediately scolding herself over that too. It was her name, a fine name, and she was well within her right to think that. Alistair hadn’t been raised with a mother constantly telling him all the hopes his name held for him. “My mother named me. My father didn’t know enough of the language, he wasn’t Dalish.” Sina squinted at her work, distracted by it for several moments before her attention returned to the conversation. “She came to live in the alienage, but before she had me she’d been part of a clan.”

“What clan was that, do you know?”

Sina set down her wood and knife to eye him. “Why are you asking me all of these things?” She’d assumed he’d come to her tent to sleep. They seemed to have a better time of it when they were together rather than apart. It wasn’t as though they didn’t talk to one another between periods of silence. There was a natural exchange, small confessions that sometimes took days or weeks to amount to anything worth knowing. Sina knew that when Alistair stayed up late reading, it was because he’d had a bad dream the night before. Something unrelated to the archdemon that he wouldn’t bother bringing up if she didn’t ask. She suspected Alistair had noticed her penchant for losing or misplacing her comb. Even though she rarely set it down in the same place, it was almost always resting on her pack. Those things didn’t make her feel odd. Sina didn’t notice herself thinking about them often, just shaping her behaviors around the new information. Actually being prompted by questions made her feel too big for her own skin. No one had ever thought to ask her anything about herself. There was no need in the alienage, since everyone was confined they knew one another or at least of each other.

“Why am I asking you about… you?” Alistair puffed in amusement, shrugging as he drew a hand down the front of his chest. “I'm interested in knowing you better. And elves, too, I suppose. The Chantry education is lacking in that regard.”

“Well,” Sina cast him a suspicious look that quickly collapsed at Alistair’s warm smile. She stuck her tongue in her cheek and rolled her eyes, wrinkling her nose as she struggled to keep her amusement hidden. “I wouldn't know where to begin in finding her clan. They move around, you know.”

“Yes, ah…” Alistair frowned. Sina squinted back at him before putting her whittling away. “Why are you acting so strange?”

“I got you a gift, for your… birthday? Yes,” he continued with renewed confidence when Sina nodded. Elves celebrated birthdays. That she remembered telling him, some comment she offered to keep from appearing apathetic towards a conversation he and Leliana were having about one of her stories. Gifts were always a simple enough thing, though after seeing so much of the world, Sina thought finding a gift for her cousins or her father would prove to be quite the challenge now. She wasn’t sure there was anything capable of encapsulating the experience she had now. They all deserved to know the wonders situated beyond the walls of the alienage.

“You remembered my birthday?” He and Leliana had been debating something, so she didn’t think either of them had heard her when she said she was born in Harvestmere. Even if they had heard her, she certainly hadn’t expected either of them to remember or have it on their minds to prepare something for the date. 

“Of course I did.” Alistair looked genuinely hurt that she thought to suggest he was careless enough not to, but Sina was too confused to apologize. “Wait here.”

“I didn't feel inclined to move,” Sina pointed out, twisting to watch Alistair stand. He bent over to direct her forward, turning her by her shoulders so she couldn't see what he was up to behind her. Sina laughed at his excitement and sat patiently, resting her hands in her lap until he returned to sit heavily beside her.

“Here,” Alistair offered her a dreadful knot of weeds, tied together in something that might have once been a circle. “Put it on.”

“I’m not wearing that,” Sina refused with a laugh, her hands flying upwards to protect her hair in case he try to put it on her anyway.

“It’s tradition!” Alistair sputtered. “You said so yourself. Every year your mother would put a crown of weeds on your head and say-”

“Were you paying _any_ attention to Leliana?”

“What?” Alistair squinted in confusion. “I pay attention to you when you talk,” he dismissed before watching her expectantly. He grinned broadly when Sina submitted to setting the knotted dandelions on her head. Their seeds would be in her hair for days, graying her roots as intended, a symbolic gesture of old age.

“Go ahead.”

Alistair smiled as he cupped his hands against her face. “May you live to one hundred and twenty.” He squeezed her cheeks before leaning forward to kiss them, laughing at her sputtered cry when the dandelions slipped off her head and into their faces. “Happy birthday.” 

“Thank you, Alistair. I appreciate it.”

Sina tore a dandelion from the crown and held it up to Alistair. He shook his head at her. It was her day, not his. She sighed in contemplation and jerked back, startled to find the breath enough to send the seeds flying, floating in all directions. Alistair laughed at Sina’s expression and waved his hands to clear the air between them.

“What did you wish for, love?”  


“I’ll tell you when you turn one hundred and twenty.”  



	2. a note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after taking some elven lessons from her sister, sina finds out that she isn't nymisa's only student.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alistair x warden "so, it was you."
> 
> fluff and vaguely dirty letter written in elven

Sina frowned down at the folded note and turned it in her fingers, the edges so worn from her fiddling that the tiny fibers of the parchment were visible if she held it up close to look. She forced herself to stop opening it and folding it back, to save the writing so she’d actually be able to read it later, as though she hadn’t looked over it nearly a hundred times already. It had been little over a week since she’d first gotten it, the elven text harder to decipher than what she’d already learned.

Nymisa wasn’t as good a teacher as Alistair, though Sina was even more interested in learning to read Elven. They had no books to practice with and Nymisa admitted that she could recite every story and legend she’d heard, but writing them down was a chore. She wasn’t a First trained to keep the Dalish’s knowledge, she was a hunter, though Sina appreciated her knowledge all the same.

“Ideally, my hips would look like this…”

“I’d venture to say they look like this already.”

“Good, that means I’m ideal.”

“This was nice,” Sina started, barely noticing Nymisa’s wide eyes as she turned from Zevran, so into her conversation with him that she hadn’t noticed the other woman approach. Sina sat down to join them, folding her hands into her lap as Zevran stamped out whatever it was they had been drawing into the soft earth. “It took me some time to read,” she admitted softly “but thank you. Is this one of the Keeper’s tales? I didn’t understand all of the references.”

“Ah…” Nymisa smiled cautiously, her eyes sliding sideways in search of a hint for Sina’s gratitude. “You’re welcome,” she offered slowly. “For…”

“For this?” Sina held up the note before unfolding it for Nymisa to see. Zevran took the opportunity to study it too, peeking past Nymisa’s shoulder before sighing against her cheek. Sina wrinkled her nose when Nymisa swatted at him playfully.

“What is it?” Zevran asked.

“It’s a… It’s a poem?” Nymisa determined before wrinkling her nose down at her sister. “This wasn’t me,” she breathed, handing it to Sina. “That’s inappropriate.”

“How…” Sina frowned and shifted closer to Nymisa, waiting patiently as she sighed and used her little finger to tap a line of text. “Yes, that was my favorite part.”

“I see what happened. You misunderstood,” Nymisa cleared her throat before glancing at Zevran. He was smiling broadly, greatly amused by whatever it was Nymisa mouthed to him. “This is… All right, you probably took this as a compliment, which it _is_ , I suppose, but it wouldn’t be one that I’d give you. All of this, really, is nothing I would ever tell a relative. Him, perhaps,” she glanced at Zevran and laughed when he furrowed his brows at her.

“You don’t find me sweet?” Sina scowled.

“Not particularly, no.” Nymisa pushed the paper back towards Sina. “Not now and not ever in that context.”

“I don’t understand, how else could one be- _oh_ ,” Sina jumped up and started for her tent. “For the love of-”

“It wasn’t about love!” Nymisa called after Sina before sighing and picking up her discarded stick. “I don’t think Alistair understood my lessons well, either. That was impressively… Well.” She cleared her throat and rolled her shoulders before glancing the way Sina had gone. “He certainly wouldn’t have given her that if he’d known what he’d written.”

“Perhaps you aren’t the best teacher,” Zevran allowed, tipping his head to watch as her doodles in the earth started to take form. “But you are an exceptional artist.”

“It’s not hard to draw breasts, Zevran.”

* * *

“So,” Sina entered her tent with puffed cheeks. “It was _you_.”

“You said I could have your pie,” Alistair breathed, hands curled against his collar in surprise. “If anything else is missing, it was the dog.” He relaxed when Sina held up her note, his hesitant smile soon growing into something wide and warm as she approached. “Oh, _that_. I was beginning to think you hadn’t found it tucked away in your… Was it legible? I wanted to write you like you wrote me, I thought we could exchange letters and… Write back and forth, so I could practice too.”

Sina paused just enough for her face to soften at the sentiment before she came upon the image of Alistair asking her sister how to write about _her incomparable sweetness_  and _illustrious warmth_  and felt herself growing hot all over again.

“Alistair, this was terrible.”

“What?” His face fell but Sina was preoccupied with trying to find the worst bits of the note. “Andraste’s ass, _I want to embrace your heat forever?_ ”

“Yes?” Alistair flushed, folding his arms across his chest and screwing up his face. “What’s wrong with that? You’re… Warm and… Good? I- Well, I can’t say on the spot, but, you make me feel-”

“You used the wrong _words_ ,” Sina interrupted. “It- It’s like-” She sighed before pinching her thumb and forefinger together. She slid her finger into the space, maintain eye contact as his blush deepened, all the way to his ears. “Forever, Alistair.”

“Oh.”

“Forever, you said.”

“Oh, no.”

“My sister helped you write this.”

“She may have had a bit to drink when I… It was right after she’d looted that… Oh.” Alistair held his breath before expelling it slowly. “She couldn’t have remembered what we’d talked about, it was good wine.”

“Well she’s sober now and she just read it.”

“I’m so sorry.” Alistair shook his head firmly. “You’re more than that to me. So much more. In fact, I’d be completely fine if we never-”

“This is…” Sina swallowed hard as she looked the note over again, the poetic nature of the language more apparent now that she thought to think of alternative meanings to the words Alistair had written. How such innocent compliments could turn into a horrifically detailed worship of her body was beyond her. “My sister’s a pervert.”

“I’m sorry.” Alistair whispered. He cleared his throat and shook his head before scrubbing his hands against his face. He seemed redder when Sina looked at him, but he’d straightened, capable of looking her in the eye again as he reached for the paper. “I’ll do my research next time and…” His voice fell as Sina turned to hold it out of reach.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” She folded the paper and shifted back towards the opening of the tent, pausing to look Alistair over slowly. “But don’t do it again.”

“Never.”


	3. Milquetoast - f!Amell x f!Surana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two mages come to terms with the fact that only one may leave the Circle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> milquetoast | n | a very timid, unassertive, spineless person, especially one who is easily dominated or intimidated
> 
> no ship specified
> 
> angst

****“Nerea,” Vera frowned. This wasn’t a time for negotiation, not that Nerea would have even bothered arguing with the other mage. Maybe it was a skill of humans to be stubborn, maybe it was Nerea who was exceptionally weak. Either way, she was fortunate that Vera never thought to abuse their relationship. She tried to better Nerea’s life any way possible, even if Nerea wasn’t fond of change. “You have to go now, Miss Warden.” It wasn’t amusing, but she laughed anyway. “He’s waiting for you, Nerea.”

She couldn’t stand to hear her name from the other woman. She didn’t want to think of this being the last time she’d ever hear it, she didn’t want to be preoccupied with defeat instead of the deepness of Vera’s voice and the way her lips curled around the vowels like she was tasting something rich. She didn’t want to miss being savored.

Nerea couldn’t argue with her any longer. It wasn’t in her nature, and Vera would die before letting her give up this opportunity. Nerea had spent too many nights awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to imagine the stars and the sky beyond. She’d spent too many days distracted from her lessons, straining to remember where she’d come from, what her mother might have been doing, the other children she’d played with. She’d spent too much time hoping and wondering, as much of herself dedicated to the fantasy of leaving as she was to Vera, the one good thing in this place. Now was the time to finally say something, to be an equal in the relationship. Though she deflated the moment the thought touched her mind. She was equal. She was more than, perhaps. Vera was pushy and quick to anger, she antagonized templars because it was something to do and her suggestions were always commands, but Nerea’s wellbeing was always at the forefront of her mind. She was the smokescreen, the distraction, the protector. She took the brunt of it all so Nerea could remain unscathed, ready to dream and now that the opportunity had presented itself, to flee.

She loved the woman, but she also hated Vera a bit for it, the strength she had and the selfishness. If Vera left, she’d never forgive herself for leaving Nerea behind. Vera would certainly suffer the separation, but maybe Nerea could manage. Maybe Nerea wanted the sky a bit more than she wanted her lover. Maybe the stars were worth leaving her heart behind.

“You’ve always wanted to be outside, hm?” Vera took Nerea’s face in her hands, her fingers hot against her jaw. Nerea stared into her dark eyes. Vera was grinning, _proud_. Proud, assured and a dozen other things Nerea would never be. She didn’t look sad, and if not for the kiss she planted on Nerea’s lips, Nerea would have suspected Vera wanted to get rid of her. But for every spark of confidence Vera had, it was her touch that gave her away. The desperate yielding of her lips to accept all Nerea had to give, the venturing span of her fingers, sliding down the side of her throat to grip the collar of her robes, pulling Nerea even closer until their bodies pressed together. Nerea wound her arms around Vera, one hand reaching up for her hair while the other situated itself lower, fondling her, recalling each touch of soft skin hidden beneath the heavy material. “Have a life,” Vera gasped, laughing as she broke away to caress Nerea’s face. “Now's your chance. Be a hero, or something." Vera had the audacity to laugh again. "Be free, love.” Her fingers roamed over Nerea’s pinched eyebrows, over her cheekbones, over the perfectly imperfect curve of her nose, a nose Vera declared to be the absolute best in all of Ferelden. All of Thedas, perhaps, though Vera insisted Nerea had family somewhere and that family must have shared the delightful feature. They talked about meeting them, introducing each other to their families as though there was any sense in the matter. As though anything outside existed. As though they’d be given the chance to share themselves with anyone other than each other.

She didn’t want to go. For as often as Nerea dreamed of freedom, she’d never dated to be without Vera. There was no real freedom with her heart trapped here. Without her, it would be worth nothing.

Despite that, the stars were waiting for her. Vera must have realized, with the telling smile on her face. She tucked her knuckle beneath Nerea’s chin to push her head upwards.

“You do well out there. Don’t let anyone tell you what to do. You’re better than all of them. The templars, the humans, the men. You enjoy it for the both of us, okay?”

“I love you,” Nerea whispered.

“I love you too, Miss Warden.”


	4. Evanesce - f!Brosca and f!Tabris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tabris struggles with a difficult change and Brosca vows to help her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> evanesce | v | to disappear gradually; vanish; fade away
> 
> no ship specified
> 
> multi!warden au - angst, disabilities

Sina frowned at the ruins of the village, a desolate space of gray. The only color that she could see was the blue of a shredded piece of fabric hanging on a line, laundry of one of the bodies hidden past the rubble of destroyed homes, the ghost of dress or a blouse Sina’s father might have once bought her mother after saving for some time.

They’d stopped to give Nerea and Vera time to prepare potions for the horde they were due to meet soon, salves and life-saving measures that couldn’t be conjured amidst the fighting. It felt more like an opportunity to give Sina time to rest. She was dizzy and feverish still, obviously unfit to fight despite her arguing the opposite. No one had bothered trying to talk her out of coming along, though. She had her pride and she wouldn’t listen to reason.

Sina shifted her feet in the dirt before leaning against the single standing portion of a collapsed fence. She’d counted the pieces of splintered wood as she approached, scanning the landscape for signs of her companions among the abandoned buildings and rotting crops emitting an odor so foul Sina feared she’d soon become reacquainted with her breakfast.

Oddly enough, she didn’t mind the scent.

It was undeniable, distinct enough that Sina had no doubts as to what she was smelling. After everything, she still needed reassurances. She was losing her senses in a way she thought impossible, faced with a persistent roaring despite the silence around her. After her doomed wedding, after the human corpses, after the look on Shianni’s face - she needed confirmation that she hadn’t been lost to a nightmare. She could have dreamt up her new freedom, something that might have served some purpose to better the alienage. She could be dying now, chained and delirious, but the scars she’d earned since Ostagar said otherwise. The bruises that restricted her movement were real. The blood lost, the constant ache, the pain. It was terribly perfect in its consistency, injuries she could feel, hurt that would heal, a reality easier to face than the one she’d left behind. So far, all had had reason. It didn’t discriminate between her or her company. It didn’t matter if they were elves or humans or dwarves, they had each suffered similarly since joining together.

Never had it occurred to her that she’d be questioning her experiences again. Not after coming so far and doing so much. The fire she felt with each breath sound have reminded her otherwise, but there was less she could understand now than before. The world was silent, but there was something loud within her. It was such a contradiction that Sina couldn’t help reaching up for the damaged remnant of her ear, touching it gingerly and talking to herself, only able to feel and not hear.

“Sina?” Divna was approaching from the wrong side. Her eyes were upwards, as always, studying the sky as though she expected something to come down from it. Sina smiled at the look on the dwarf’s face, taking in the soft smile before she brought her hand down just in front of the other woman’s nose. She laughed as Divna yelped, jumped, and immediately struck out to smack Sina’s side, her face soon overwhelmed with regret when Sina whimpered in pain. The sound mixed with her laughter, though Sina couldn’t hear it or the small sob she emitted, testing the quaking silence.

Divna huffed, tentatively brushing her fingers against Sina’s hand where it was clasped against her hip. Sina didn’t take notice of her, sniffing and looking back towards the deserted wreckage Cordelia was gingerly stepping through, trying to find something of use or value or bodies to pray over. Sina hadn’t thought to ask the woman what she was doing and she didn’t care. She was too busy ruminating over the silence and the ringing in her head, simultaneous somehow, disturbing with its persistence.

“That’s not _funny_ ,” Divna complained, her annoyance collapsing when she saw Sina’s expression shift from amusement to confusion to something beyond words. Divna shook her head and held up a hand apologetically before shifting to Sina’s other side, chastising herself quietly for not remembering. There was no way to forget, really. Not with how battered the side of the elf’s face was, the bruising still persistent despite Nerea and Vera’s work. They’d brought her back from somewhere. Maybe not death, but a place that had stolen a good portion of her hearing, and perhaps some of her sense. The way her eyes tracked each of them now was haunting, too much attention paid to their movements. Compensation, maybe, for her difficulty hearing now, but cursed nonetheless. “You could-” Divna glanced up at Sina to find her friend already watching her, her brows pinched as she struggled to understand. Divna held up her hand to demonstrate, mocking a chop in the air against her other hand. “You could lose a finger the next time you do that.”

“You say that every time,” Sina pointed out, a little too loud, talking over something Divna couldn’t hear. “I think you like it up here. You don’t seem as fearful as you were at first.”

“Aye,” Divna agreed with a rueful shrug, more relieved than she thought she would be to engage in conversation with Sina again. She’d been so quiet since they had started their journey that she feared Sina’s injuries had included her voice. “There’s plenty of scary things down here.” Divna paused to consider her own hearing and how she might react to finding herself unable to enjoy the occasional bird’s song or Leliana’s lute. Divna would have missed it for sure, especially now that she had been able to experience so much above Orzammar. She would have missed the sounds Sina made while playing with shadows against the side of their tent, Nymisa’s explanations of what flowers were safe to eat, and the ridiculous stories Vera told by the fire.

“We’ve been here too long,” Sina murmured, too soft now, face fixed in an anxious grimace.

“We have.” Divna tipped her head back to cock a brow at the sky. She studied it for a minute - the blue a bit too bright for her gaze to linger - and worked to recall how difficult it was for her to breathe while studying it. She worked to remember her fear and tried to put herself there again, where Sina languished now. Everything she knew had changed, yet managed to stay the same. It had to be worse for her than Divna’s relocation had been, knowing that she was the problem and not everything else around her.

Divna closed her eyes briefly, comforted by the imposed darkness. She opened her eyes slowly and looked towards Sina, reaching for her hand to squeeze it reassuringly. She offered her friend a smile. The elf might not get better, but Divna would help her find sense in her new situation, just as Sina had her. “Let’s check on the mages,” Divna suggested, wiggling her fingers in the air for effect. Sina narrowed her eyes before chuckling, nodding in understanding before repeating the gesture herself. “Maybe we can hurry them along.”


	5. Pavnonine - Blackwall x f!Cadash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyhold's resident warden receives a new do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pavnonine | adj | of or like a peacock; resembling the feathers of a peacock, as in coloring.
> 
> no ship specified
> 
> general foolishness

It had to have been an hour by now, that they’d been staring at each other.

Or rather, that _she_ had been staring at _him_.

Blackwall didn’t speak, waiting for Petra to explain herself or what it was about his presence that had served as such an affront to her character.

“Have you ever thought of doing something different?”

“Pardon?”

“To that,” she wiggled her finger in a circle, pointing upwards towards his beard. Blackwall blinked down at the Inquisitor before hesitantly stroking his beard, his brows furrowing at the fact that this entire time had been dedicated to scrutinizing her facial hair. “Varric is a disappointment,” she continued, gesturing to nothing in particular - the general direction she thought Varric to be, he imagined. “Of course, all dwarves don’t _have_ to have beards, that itself is a…”

“Misconception?” Blackwall suggested.

“Pah,” Petra scowled before turning around in a small circle before finding a suitable place to sit. Blackwall wasn’t sure he had ever come across a vain and dainty thing, dwarf or human or elf aside. Of course none of it seemed to matter while fighting. She was impressively destructive, but the moment blades were away she was rushing off to clean up or change her clothes or rebraid her hair. He was a bit fearful to have her entire attention now, though it was exhilarating nonetheless. He just hoped she’d spare him her penchant for ribbons. “Come here, Warden Blackwall. Let’s see what can be done with that thing.” She opened her pack and dug through it, flashes of pink and cream and lavender revealing that she, in fact, had no intentions of leaving her ribbons out of the fun. “Honestly,” she looked him over with mild distaste when he came to stand before her, pointing firmly at her feet when he didn’t immediately understand the source of her annoyance. “On your knees, Blackwall. You’re too tall for me to reach.”

“Apologies, my lady.”

“Don’t do it again,” Petra mumbled before pulling out a variety of hair accessories, pins and clips with sparkling gems attached. Blackwall sniffed but remained silent, shaking his head wordlessly when Petra glanced up at him. He had to look away once he caught a flash of blue and her mischievous grin. “I’m not touching your beard. Your _hair_ , however…”

“In that case,” Blackwall paused to lift a pin from her lap. “I wouldn’t mind you using this.” Petra eyed it and him before snatching the decoration and scowling. He lowered his gaze to stare at the ground.

“I’m the one in charge, here.” She was silent for a moment, rummaging through her bag before Blackwall felt his head tugged suddenly as a brush was drawn through his hair, accompanied with mutters about relinquishing the tool to him later. “But this will do.”


	6. Effloresce - f!Amell x f!Surana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love and alchemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> effloresce | v | assume crystalline form; become crystallized
> 
> no ship specified

The necklace had to be stolen. **  
**

Vera insisted that it wasn't, but Nerea had a difficult time believing that the other woman hadn't taken it from one of the homes they had stormed through. Or looted it from a corpse - perhaps from one of the many bandits they'd come across since starting their journey together. It wasn’t a poor reflection of Vera’s character - the mage was honest even when dishonesty would serve her better. Her view of the world would have led her to believe it better she make use of the jewelry than whatever dead or empty soul had originally owned it. And Nerea was pragmatic enough to agree with her in that sense… But the necklace served neither of them now. It was just a wasteful thing - not even a luxury. They had no one to impress, not unless the darkspawn took kindly to dressed up ladies. If that was the case, they should divert to the nearest tailor immediately.

“I made it for you,” Vera said again, her grip on the jewels a bit too tight. Nerea reached to pry apart her fingers and pressed her thumb to Vera’s palm where the stones had pinched her skin.

“You didn’t make it for me,” Nerea denied. Her dismissive laugh turned to a light gasp when Vera grabbed her hand, crushing the crystals between their fingers. 

“Every time you cried in that damned place,” Vera fought to control her voice, her words wavering and eyes a bit too stern. She relaxed after a moment, lifting Nerea’s hand to kiss her knuckles apologetically. “I wiped them away, didn’t I? I made this for you,” she said a final time, holding the necklace out for Nerea’s inspection. “It took some effort, I messed up quite a few times… You cried quite a bit, though, so I was-” Vera screwed her face up when Nerea started to laugh again. “I’ll admit, it’s  _odd_ to save someone’s tears. But I thought- I  _figured_ , at some point, I could bring this out and reassure you that things will get better, if I could make something this pretty from your… My father would bring my mother things when she was- I thought you might... Save me, say something,” Vera sighed, exhausted by the confession.

“It’s beautiful, Vera.” Nerea reached to touch her face. “Both the necklace and the sentiment.”

“Really?” Vera grinned brashly, her entire face lighting up at the compliment. Nerea nodded quickly before gathering her hair and turning around.

“Would you put it on me?”

“Oh, certainly,” Vera mumbled. “Now you can look pretty for the darkspawn.”

“Pretty for you,” Nerea corrected.

“You’re pretty enough as is, love.”


	7. Pavnonine - f!Trevelyan w/ Vivienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevelyan receives a gift from Vivienne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pavnonine | adj | of or like a peacock; resembling the feathers of a peacock, as in coloring.
> 
> no specified ship
> 
> pffft idk why do i try with summaries and shit
> 
> translation for serannas, aburo mi - thanks, my friend

Asherin smoothed a hand down the front of her gown, savoring the tickles of the textured material against her palm. Her nails caught on the lace, but she removed them with a gentle expertise likely mistaken for one who had often worn such things instead of the care that belonged to a child often gifted scraps of fabric richer than anything she’d ever come to own. Richer than the name her father had given. Richer, perhaps, than the title of Herald. It only paled in comparison to her wealth of her name, the centuries of struggle and sacrifice that had birthed her, the cost of memories that came to fade with time. The dress was her and her mother and her grandmother before her. The dress was a voyage across the ocean, a farewell to a homeland, a promise for better things. 

The dress was breathtaking.

She inspected herself in the mirror, turning to reacquaint herself with her stature and the lively scene of darkness cast in marine hues. The colors seemed to jump from the frame of her black skin, a mix of blue and purple that provided a complimentary contrast. It was almost capable of stealing attention from her hips where they wiggled and swayed in an attempt to emulate the traditional steps of a coronation’s dance. Asherin needed the beat of a talking drum and a chorus of mothers to know how to move properly. Everything here was too quiet. But this dress, crafted of Rivaini lace, was delightfully loud. In this dress she could pretend to be one of the nation’s many noble queens, or a seer on the eve of her presentation to the community. 

“This is...” Asherin sighed as she turned to look over her shoulder, her hands caressing the often-condemned curve such dresses were made to accentuate. Her palms were warm on her bottom as she paused to consider what other hands she might enjoy there. She was so absorbed in studying her own appearance that she forgot her company, Vivienne just in the edge of her reflection with a finger curled thoughtfully over her lip as she studied her work. Asherin dropped her hands with a promise of indulging herself with an appropriate companion later. 

“It’s imported,” Vivienne started. She hadn’t spoken since presenting Asherin with the package. Her eyes were fixed and her features hardened for a brief moment as she inspected the material, her fingers brushing gingerly over the lace laying over Asherin’s collarbone. “I couldn’t get by with an imitation.” Asherin wondered if Vivienne meant that the daughter of a Rivani seamstress would surely be able to tell the difference, or if it was a matter of the Enchanter’s standards. Either way, it was a nice change. The gown was cut to flatter and stitched with care. It was for admiration, without the slits often provided in the skirts to allow women to move. An Orlesian had likely put it together, under careful supervision if the construction was any indication. It was almost perfect - more than Asherin had dared to want in anything in quite some time.

“It’s certainly real,” Asherin agreed. “I can smell the sea.” She tried to imagine the women who had crafted the lace and linen, the hands that had dyed, cut, and packaged it all to be delivered. She tried to recall herself younger, pinning all of her scraps to make a poor replica of what a princess might wear. She tried to ignore the memory of being taken from the alienage to the Trevelyan estate and dressed up in their best clothes - finally one of the family, yet wishing for proper noble attire like the things her mother had made before crossing the ocean. She tried to remember life before she was Asherin, some false imitation of the youngest Trevelyan stricken with an illness even the mages couldn’t cure. That had been the time to pluck up the bastard child, something to patch the fragile psyche of the Lady Trevelyan, who called the new girl by the name of the old, a forced mother to a girl who wanted nothing more than to go back to her own.

It had been too long since Asherin had had something genuine. Vivienne had given it to her finally, something Asherin should have been above with her maturity, with all the events that had happened since the mark she’d long since forgotten her dream to become a seer. The gesture alone brought tears to her eyes, but it was the reminder of her home - her first home - that caught her defenseless, unable to keep the moisture from her eyes. “ _ Serannas, aburo mi _ ,” Asherin murmured, her mixed thanks composed of two languages Vivienne didn’t speak. The gratitude was not lost, as Vivienne smiled in a small and warm display. She used her thumb to smear away Asherin’s tears and turned the younger mage back towards the mirror, her hands resting firmly on her shoulders.

“It’s a bit early for that, dear,” Vivienne laughed. “I haven’t even shown you the matching shoes.”


	8. #ockissweek - first kiss | forehead kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before she was the Herald of Andraste, or even Lady Trevelyan, she was the daughter of a seamstress in Rivain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day no. 1 of oc kiss week.
> 
> fluff
> 
> a baby's pov
> 
> oro ayo mi = my happiness

 

The small shop smelled like shea butter and incense, the latter almost too thick to bear. The spiced scent tickled her nose and made her sneeze every morning. It mixed with the smoke of the older gentlemen that milled about the place, toasting passing men and women who joked with them returned their small favors and compliments with their attention and riddles, things Ashaerin couldn't understand but watched with interest nonetheless.

Her mother worked diligently throughout the day, laughing and smiling with the other women and offering Asherin things to occupy her time when she wasn't distracted by the other children or left in the care of an auntie. The lady she worked with today wasn't an auntie Asherin recognized, but her mother approached her with fondness, long and delicate fingers stretching to touch her jaw. "Good morning, Desiara." Asherin couldn't see the smile they shared, but she recognized the tender way their lips touched and she offered her delight at the sight, the sound of her cry making the other woman laugh. 

Today Asherin was a spirit desperate to meet the earth, squirming from where she was tucked tightly in her mother's wrapper, pinned to the woman's back. It was a comfortable trap that led to too many changes, some sort of mundane magic she'd learn to escape. Something that worked with time.

Sometimes, her mother's projects would change in the blink of an eye; a deep blue skirt would become a white blouse without explanation. Sometimes, she'd open her eyes to find the light gone. Suddenly, they were elsewhere: walking by the sea or dancing to music on the street. Now, Asherin found herself waking just in time for freedom, the rough linen loosening enough to let her slip from her mother's back. The not-auntie was there to pick her up, rocking her in her arms as her mother sighed and stretched. 

" _Oro ayo mi_ ," her mother greeted, her face splitting into brightness when Asherin laughed in relief at the sound of her voice. She was delighted to find that her mother had managed to remember her despite hours and hours apart. "You slept all day!"

"That's because she was bored, aye?" The not-auntie reached to pinch her cheeks and she whined, leaning away from her before burying her face against the woman's collar. Her mother laughed and reached to take her, turning her in her arms and resting her hand over her hair. 

"Will you stay up with us then,  _da'len_?" Desiara bowed her head to kiss Asherin on the forehead, her eyes twin moons that managed to captivate her until the not-auntie stole her attention, twirling idly and watching her skirts move. "I think she likes you, Banire."

"Really?" Banire stopped twirling, laughing breathlessly as she skipped forward to kiss Desiara's cheek. "Good, because I like you both."


End file.
